Not a Long Term Guy
by lauralizzie07
Summary: JoDean. It’s hard to hope for forever when the man you love has an expiration date. Spoilers for end of Season 2 and beginning of Season 3. Chapter 2 posted.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Not a Long-Term Guy  
Timeline: Season 3, post-Bad Day at Black Rock  
Rating: PG-13 for minor language  
Summary: It's hard to hope for forever when the man you love has a one-year expiration date. Jo/Dean, one-shot.  
Disclaimer: Not mine :)

Jo knows he's not a long-term guy. She knows he's better at one-night stands than marriage proposals. She lies to herself—she says it doesn't matter, that relationships are overrated and she doesn't like to be tied down anyway. She tries not to think about china patterns and how if her father were alive he would walk her down the aisle.

She tries not to hate his brother—sweet, kind, well-meaning Sammy—for being the person he is.He can't help it if he was chosen by a demon, even if she knows that if Sam hadn't been chosen he would never have been killed and Dean never would have sold his soul to bring him back.

And Jo wouldn't have to count down the days until the man she might be in love with gets sucked down to hell.

Jo tries to enjoy the time she has with Dean, but it's hard because she knows that it will end. It's different from her other relationships—they may have been terminal, but when she told her past boyfriends to "go to hell," they didn't take her up on the suggestion. The problem, Jo says to herself, is that Dean is rarely around. He calls her up once a month and leaves her a message to let her know when he and Sam will be in town.

She saves the message, craving the sound of his voice. Sometimes he meets her at the bar where she works, but more often he'll stay outside, Impala idling, waiting for her to emerge. She winks at Sam as she slides into the back seat, pushing aside old newspapers, a forgotten bag of candy or a worn sweatshirt that still smells like Dean.

He will look back at her and smile, asking "where to?" Sometimes they eat dinner with Sam in a run-down diner, but more often they just drop him back at the motel and drive to Jo's cramped room-and-a-half apartment.

They jump on each other almost as soon as they're out of the car. Formalities are discarded—they're just two people who want each other, two people who need companionship. Dean's visits are becoming fewer and farther between and it drives Jo crazy. Without Dean to ground her she feels like a balloon flying higher and higher until the air pressure makes her pop. Jo knows that Dean feels it too—she can tell in the way he kisses her, like he's trying to devour her whole.

She knows he's not a long-term guy and he knows she's a girl who wants commitment, but when they're together they enter into a truce. Dean never shares tales of his conquests and Jo never asks him for forever. The sex is fierce and harsh—too much taking and not enough giving back—but it suits them fine. Jo thinks her bed is too big for a girl like her, but when Dean takes up residence it feels less empty—less cold.

The afters are the best part of his visits because she can pretend that they last forever. Jo notices that with each visit he holds her tighter than before and she wonders if he's afraid of what will happen to him when his year expires. She wants to ask, but she knows he'll just lie. There is so much she wants to say to him—"I love you," or, "I'll miss you," or "please don't go," but her throat can't form the words so she settles for asking about his latest job.

"We were tracking a rabbit's foot. It was stolen from some of Dad's old stuff. Bobby told us it was bad news, so we had to track it down, get it back and destroy it." Dean nuzzles Jo's neck and his stubble prickles her skin. She giggles and half-heartedly pushes him away.

"How can good luck be a bad thing?"

She feels Dean shrug, "if you lose it then your luck turns. Sammy grabbed it, but then that bitch stole it from him so we had to get it back."

"What bitch?"

"Bela… somebody. She's a dealer in occult objects, I guess. God, what a pain in the ass. Hot as hell, though." A lump forms in Jo's throat, but Dean just shakes his head and starts playing with the ends of her pale hair. "She's a real piece of work."

Their conversation trails off eventually and they untwine from each other's arms as they each succumb to sleep. Jo loves the sound of another pair of lungs pumping air in and out—it makes her feel safe and comfy, like she's not as alone as she feels.

Mornings are unwelcome. Morning means waking up alone, to a note telling her he went to get coffee. Morning means he'll be gone for another month or two or three. Morning means that one more day is ticked off Dean's calendar—one day closer to his imminent death. Jo knows that hunters live on borrowed time, but the knowledge doesn't make the reality any easier.

He kisses her goodbye, sweetly, a contrast to the ferocity he shows when his little brother's not watching. She waves to Sam and blows Dean one last kiss. She tells herself that next time he calls she'll tell him she's busy—tell him to pass through, that she's not interested—but she never follows through.

Sure enough, exactly thirty-five days later he calls. "I'll be in town in a couple of days, I'll pick you up at the bar." Her toes curl and she saves the message almost involuntarily. She knows he's not a long-term guy, but it doesn't matter. Relationships are overrated, she tells herself. She doesn't want to be tied down, anyway.

Sometimes she's almost convinced.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Not a Long-Term Guy (2/2)  
Rating: PG-13 for minor language

Okay, okay… So I guess I lied about this being a one-shot. I thought of a reasonably happy ending for Jo and Dean and I really wanted to put in on paper.

* * *

It's been a year and five days since Dean made his deal at the crossroads. Jo pretended that she's stopped counting the days, but the date has always been in the back of her mind. It's been three months since he has come to see her. She tried to pretend that she doesn't care, but she can't quite manage it. 

Jo doesn't know which scenario would piss her off more—if Dean died without saying good-bye or if he weaseled his way out of the deal and didn't return to her. She settles for an all-consuming, all-encompassing anger toward the Winchesters. Jo decides to hate John for his part in her father's death, Dean for breaking her heart and Sam for dying in the first place. It's not fair, but if life were fair then her father would still be around. If life were fair then Dean would be with her.

She moved back in with her mother a month ago. Ellen and Jo get along better now, as long as neither of them talk about the Winchester men or mention Ash's name. Jo used to wonder how Dean could repress everything, but now she realizes that it's easy as lying. If you don't talk about it then you don't think about it. If you don't think about it then it doesn't exist and you can forget it entirely.

Seventeen days after Dean's clock ran out, the man in question stepped into the new Roadhouse. It's dark and cool, like always, but it smells of fresh pine and sawdust instead of smoke and old booze. He grinned when he saw Jo balanced on a beam, her slender legs swinging, painting the new ceiling white.

"I'll be with you in a second," Jo called without looking down.

"Take your time." Dean looked around the new building and whistled in appreciation. At first Jo thought he was just another customer, but when she saw him she yelped and promptly fell off the beam. Dean couldn't help but laugh as Jo dangled helplessly—one knee securely hooked over the beam to keep her from tumbling down and breaking her neck.

Needless to say Jo was not amused by Dean's reaction. "Why don't you stop laughing and get me the fuck down from here?" She snapped, trying to hoist herself back onto the beam so that she could climb down to safety.

Dean wrapped his arms securely around her waist. "You can let go; I've got you," he said, still laughing. Jo grumbled, but she let herself drop, upside-down, into Dean's arms.

"I missed you, Jo," he said quietly as he turned her right side up and set her on the smooth wooden floor, splattered with white paint from her dropped brush.

"Yeah, right." Jo reluctantly pulled herself out of his arms and retrieved her paintbrush. "Did you want something? I have work to do."

"I'm serious."

Jo turned away from him. "You've been a free man for what, seventeen, eighteen days?" Her voice was cold as she started to walk away. "Call me crazy, but if you missed me, wouldn't you come to see me sooner?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you," Dean muttered, stepping around her to take a seat. Jo narrowed her eyes and stepped behind the bar.

"What can I get for you?" Her voice was deceptively sweet and Dean mentally warned himself to watch his step.

He eyed her silently for a moment. "I'll have a beer." Jo pulled out a bottle of cheap beer and unceremoniously banged it down in front of him. Dean quirked his eyebrow, "bottle opener?" Jo reached into her pocket and threw her bottle opener at him—narrowly missing his head. He swore as he ducked it. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"When you didn't come to me…" Jo swallowed, "I assumed that you wanted to break it off before you died." She shrugged, hoping that she wouldn't cry. "Now you're here and you're alive. So what do you want, Dean? Do you want to pick up where we left off?" Jo walked around the bar to look him in the eye. "Do you want to just… do as you please and leave me behind?"

Dean exhaled, "I guess that was the, uh, general idea."

When Ellen walked in five minutes later with a fresh case of whiskey, Dean was leaning against the bar, clutching his nose and Jo was nonchalantly wiping down shot glasses. Jo said later that she wished she had a camera to capture the look on Dean's face when her fist connected with it.

"Dean came back," Jo said unnecessarily. Ellen offered him some ice for his nose, but Jo interrupted her mother. "He was just leaving, actually."

Ellen started to protest, but Dean just shook his head and stood up. "Nice seeing you Ellen," he said from behind the hand clutching his swelling nose. "See you around, Jo. I'll give you a call." He wouldn't call her and both of them knew it, but fake sincerity was softer than outright honesty.

Dean was halfway out the door when Jo's hand on his arm stopped him. He started to speak, but her lips crashed onto his, bumping his nose and making him grunt in pain. It was fiercer than their last kiss—fiercer than he would have expected from Jo. She pressed herself against him with an eagerness that Dean fervently returned. As Jo devoured him, Dean could almost taste the longing that his absence had stirred in her. He smirked when Jo pulled away and she couldn't help but smile.

"Was that an apology for punching me in the nose?"

"Not even close."

"Are we good?"

Jo paused. She knew Dean well enough to realize that he would never commit to her—not the way she wished he would. "Call me in a week," she said. "I won't be angry with you in a week." Dean smiled and kissed her quick and drove away. 

When Ellen asked her daughter if she knew what she was doing, Jo just smiled. 


End file.
